Hiding in Plain Sight
by horserider3573
Summary: Just a fun little one shot involving an OC character and John. I don't know don't get too angry.


**A/N: Okay, I took a break from writing for a while, but I'm here with a little one shot for you. I do really like this one, but I am a bit biased. So, leave me your reviews, and tell me what you think! (:**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way own Sherlock, just the story idea.**

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It was a crisp November afternoon, around two, it felt. The sky was cloudy above, as it almost always was here in London. I pulled my coat tighter against my body, feeling chilly, and afterward adjusting my scarf that had shifted around my neck. Then, I stuffed my hands back into my pockets.

I continued to walk the streets that skirted the outside of London, passing taxis, couples hand in hand, and a bird here and there. Eventually, I had reached the gates of the local cemetery. I crept in, feeling a bit wary, as I had always been in a graveyard. I pushed my dark brown, curled hair out of my face, and looked around, taking in the scenery. There was a strange wave of calm that washed over me; whenever I came to the cemetery, it was always so peaceful.

I spotted a woman with a small girl next to her. The little girl appeared to be about six. I looked at the mother's face, which was twisted with sadness. The girl was placing a bouquet of flowers over the grave they were standing by. My heart swelled with grief for them-it must be the father.

I turned my attention to a headstone under a dying tree. I paced myself a bit slower, not wanting to disturb any of the other people around me. As I walked on toward the grave, a lump formed in my throat. This was my third time visiting the graveyard, and I still had not gotten over my friend's death.

I stood over the headstone, placing a hand on the top of it. It was a fairly sized stone, reaching to the middle of my stomach. It was in the shape of a cross. Touching the marble, I felt a sharp sting from the cold, but ignored it long enough to start feeling my eyes water.

My friend's passing was an untimely and unfair one. He had only been twenty four. I had been visiting in the United States when it had happened, seeing my parents and all of my old friends I had missed so dearly. Not once did something like this occur to me when I took my seat on that plane. He had driven me to the airport that day.

His name was Cameron. We had gone to college together, sat beside each other in our psychology course. We almost immediately had a friendship, developing a relationship almost like a brother/sister one in the three years we knew each other. We did nearly everything with each other. He was from London, and he had showed me around the city when I had first moved here for my masters degree.

I had no idea of what had happened until I had come back. We had planned on seeing a movie that next night, giving me some time to unwind and get back into the swing of things. I had tried his cell phone when I landed back in London, wanting a quick chat to see if the movie date was still on. I called six times, before I called another close friend to us both. She had to be the one to inform me of the tragedy.

I had held in the tears that were fighting to come out once I heard that he was dead, until I got back to my flat. Once behind closed doors, the tears came out in a steady flow, growing my eyes to a shade of red, and drying them out to a point where I couldn't cry any longer. I prayed to God that night, and asked him why it had to be Cameron. Why God had to break my heart. Of course, I never received an answer. That was a month ago exactly, today.

I felt a single tear slide down my cheek. I sniffled and closed my eyes, my eye sight becoming blurred.

I said a few words of comfort, more for myself, to Cameron's grave, before removing my now frozen hand. I stood in the same spot for another moment, feeling as if my world was crashing all over again. I quickly decided it was best to head back to my flat, so that I could put an end to this day. I was exhausted and needed rest.

On my way towards the gates, I walked past a simple looking headstone. It was in a more empty part of the cemetery, with only a few other graves surrounding it. The headstone was a black marble, with a metallic look to it. On it, was the name _Sherlock Homes_, engraved. There was a man standing near. He looked distressed. He was dressed in a tan sweater, a pair of blue jeans, and a black jacket was draped over his shoulders.

He had short, scruffy, blond hair that was going gray, and he held a hand to his forehead, rubbing his fingers.

The name that was engraved on the stone sounded annoyingly familiar to me, but I couldn't place who it might have been. I didn't know the man standing next to me either.

I was standing about two yards away from the man. He spoke, asking me a question. "Did you know him?" He silently said.

"Who?" I stupidly responded. I realized I had been staring. Of course, I knew he was asking me about the Sherlock Holmes man. "Uhm, no. At least I don't think so,"

"You're lucky, then." The man said to me, his voice solemn.

"Why is that?"

"He was the most stubborn, sarcastic twat you would ever meet." He tried to make a joke, and I puffed air out of my nose, in an effort to laugh.

"I'm guessing you knew him, then?" I wanted to take the question back as soon as it had slid out of my mouth. Of course he knew him, he wouldn't be here if he didn't. I felt guilty.

"Oh yes, I knew Sherlock Holmes very well. We were flatmates. It's a funny story, how we met, you know." The man still hadn't turned to face me. "I'm John, by the way. Sorry I'm telling you this. You probably don't care."

"I don't mind too much. You know, I could use a funny story right now. And I'm Meagan." I walked up closer to John, but still keeping my distance. He finally looked at me.

"I would hate to burden you with problems that aren't your own," John said.

"Well, if I'm going through anything close to what you're going through, John, then I know how you feel." With the way John was speaking of this Sherlock character, the story might be somewhat interesting.

"If you know you're fine with it, then alright," John switched the leg he was putting weight on before he continued. "I was home from the war in Afghanistan. I was an army doctor. I ran into an old friend of mine from college. I spoke to him for a minute, and told him about how I was looking for a flatmate. I told him that I didn't think anyone would want to be flatmates with me. Then, he told me that someone had said exactly the same thing earlier. So, he lead me to the morgue, where this man spent his time."

A gust of wind came, making me shiver. "John, I'd hate to interrupt, but do you think we could continue this conversation in the nearest Starbucks?"

John laughed. "Of course. Let's go grab a cab." We walked, me staggered behind him, to the main road, where he hailed a cab, and told the cabbie where we wished to go.

"Okay, sorry about that. Continue," I said. I sat back into the seat, enjoying the warmth.

"Right. So this mystery man figured out what I was, who I was, right there, on the spot. I was amazed at what he could do, it was incredible. And within the five minutes we had spoken, he had asked me to move in with him. He was annoying, far more than anyone I had encountered ever, throwing insults and rude comments everywhere, like it was nothing." John paused, smiling. I didn't know why, exactly.

"He sounds… like a character, this Sherlock." I said, as light-heartedly as I could.

"Oh yes, he was. Anyways, I moved in to the flat 221b Baker street with this man I had known for only a few hours, and the next thing you know, I'm being dragged into crime solving with him. He called himself a Consulting Detective, the only one. He was bloody good at it. If you gave him a single piece of evidence, he could determine the killer, when it happened, why, what the killer's shoe size, height, stride was, all in a little over a day. Sometimes I wondered if he was even human." John paused another moment, and I squeezed in a comment.

"That sounds surreal," I said. I really was blown away. John chuckled.

"Yes, quite. So, we eventually got to know each other, and a little while later we started being recognized as a pair. It was strange to see me without Sherlock, and it was rare to see Sherlock without me. We made quite the duo, I must confess. It's almost as if we completed each other, in a more or less homosexual way," John laughed, and so did I. "We eventually met this man that found this whole murder thing a game. His name was James Moriarty. He had the most evil intentions. He said that he would ruin Sherlock."

We had reached Starbucks, and we walked in and ordered our coffees. I received a vanilla latté, and John bought a black coffee. We pulled out chairs next to a table that was placed beside a window, and John went on with his story.

"Sherlock and I had many more cases before we ran into James again. I blogged about them, and he forgot his pants." John grinned. I suppose it was an inside joke. "Anyway, when we did meet James again, he was back with a vengeance. He slowly tore apart Sherlock; I could see it happening even if he didn't say anything to me. He claimed Sherlock was a fake, and that he had hired an actor as his arch enemy. Do you know how angry that made me?" John looked down. He was silent for a long while.

"I can imagine," I said, although I really couldn't exactly picture it.

"I think, eventually, it pushed Sherlock over the edge… he had just had enough of it all, all the lies. I… I still remember the phone call he gave me," John paused again, his eyes becoming glassy. He started to speak again, but his voice sounded throaty. "I had raced to the hospital he was at. I saw him standing there, on the ledge. Even with how far away I was to him, I could see his face… and it was the most pained face I had ever seen in all of my years of living. It was worse than all of the patients I had treated in Afghanistan."

I reached over and grabbed John's hand that was resting on the table. I had completely forgotten he was a total stranger.

"I called him on my cell, and he picked up. The way he answered, his voice… Sherlock almost never expressed emotion. But there was more in his voice in that phone call than there ever could have been in a normal human's. He told me… he told me that the phone call was his note… and I felt helpless. Really, I did. And then, before I could do anything about it, I saw him jump. Sherlock had jumped off of the rooftop and killed himself. And I watched him do it." John let a single tear fall down his cheek.

John wiped away the tear, and apologized. "It must be hard to watch your friend die. I can't even think about seeing that unfold. I'm sorry, John." I was close to crying. I was feeling the exact pain that John was feeling. We had both lost someone that had been more than friends, less than lovers. And it was the worst feeling on the face of the earth.

"Sherlock had told me on multiple occasions that he didn't have friends, that he just had one. And it never occurred to me that he might have meant it. When… when he was up on the building, Sherlock, he told me that he wanted to apologize to me. He wanted to apologize for being a fake. But between you and I, I'll never believe those words."

John looked out the window, and took a few sips of his coffee before talking again.

"I owe him so much." John looked down once more, studying his hands. He looked up at me, a forced smile spread across his face. "So. What about you?"

"Oh, um, it's not near as interesting as your story, but I lost a friend, as well. We were friends for a good three years, and while I was away on vacation in the states, seeing my parents in Chicago, he died. His name was Cameron. And if this doesn't weird you out, you sort of remind me of him." I cracked the smallest smile.

"May I ask how he died?" John squeaked, sympathy filling his voice.

"Oh, sure. It's no secret. I was told that he was shot in an alley way on his way home from a friend's house. The police claimed that a thief had been the one to pull the trigger, but they weren't sure why. I wonder everyday why it had to be Cam… he was like my brother." I finished my reason for mourning and there was silence for another long while.

I pulled my phone out to look at the time. It read 5:17. I decided that it was time for me to head home; I never stayed out late anymore, after what happened to Cam.

"Hey, John, I had better go. It's getting a little dark outside." I politely excused myself.

"Oh, right. I guess I should too, then. It was nice meeting you, Meagan." John shook my hand. He had a firm grip.

"Here, have my number, so we can keep in touch, for moral support, or maybe we can get coffee again sometime, and talk it out." I began to scribble my cell phone number onto a napkin, and smiled at John, a real one this time. He was a nice guy.

"Oh, um, that sounds wonderful. I'll text you from my phone so you know it's me." John returned the smile, and we walked out the door. We shook hands one more time, and hailed down separate cabs.

It felt like a long drive back to my flat. It had started to rain, and the sound of the water hitting the window was somewhat calming; I nearly fell asleep. My legs felt like lead when I was stepping out of the cab, I had forgotten how tired I was.

I walked around to the front of the cab, and the cabbie rolled down the window. "Thank you," I said to the him. I pulled the appropriate amount of money from my wallet and handed it to the cabbie. I had just enough time to look at him before he rolled his window back up. He was a pale, taller individual, with high cheek bones and darker brown wavy hair that fell to just above his brow line. He looked intelligent and elegant in the suit he was wearing. The thing I noticed most about him, however, were his eyes. They were ten different colors at once, gray, green, blue, even a tad yellow. They were extremely captivating, to say the least.

While I was walking away, I considered the man's appearance once more. The word, 'ghostly', came to mind.

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**A/N: Okay, so that's it! I hope you liked it, and I didn't make you too upset? I don't know, I thought it was kind of clever. Anyway, tell me what you think, what I can improve on. I love getting your feedback!**


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